


Of Pining and Planning

by Madlyie



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras has no chill, M/M, Pining, This is ridiculous, literally everyone is pining, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 09:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6189895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madlyie/pseuds/Madlyie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac and Combeferre are pining. Enjolras has Enough with a capital E.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Pining and Planning

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I couldn't stop thinking about [that one headcanon](http://vintage-jehan.tumblr.com/) and it refused to leave me alone so this happened. Also this is riculous, it's completely ridiculous. I love it.  
> Enjoy. ♥

 

 

***

 

“Could you pass me the milk, please?”

Courfeyrac loves the way the other man’s lips move when he’s speaking, the way they open slightly at the pronounced C, purse and press together at the P, how his tongue perfectly, effortlessly rolls with every L. He loves the way his voice sounds, deep, gentle but still a little rough from having woken up not too long ago.

“Courf?”

Courfeyrac snaps out of his marvelling about Combeferre’s lips and looks up into the slightly concerned eyes of the man in question, light brown eyes, amber almost, like honey or – “Is everything alright?”

 

Oh right, he’s supposed to pay attention.

 

“Yeah, sure, sorry. I was just… lost in thought.” He puts on his most charming smile, the A+ one, that brings out his dimples (that one that he has  _not_ practised in front of the mirror for hours, don’t listen to Marius, he gets confused easily and doesn’t know what he saw, okay?) and hopes it’s convincing.

It obviously is because Combeferre chuckles quietly and Courfeyrac is glad he’s sitting down because his knees could go week from that smile, let alone that laugh.

“Could you pass me the milk then?” Combeferre asks again and Courfeyrac has just enough presence of mind to take the milk carton and hand it over and alright, their fingertips are definitely touching and Courfeyrac hopes, prays that the blush on his cheeks it not too obvious.

It’s a really nice morning, Sunday morning, so what if he can’t help but smile into his bowl of cereal. It’s not that much of a big deal.

 

A chair scrapes loudly over the kitchen floor so abruptly Courfeyrac nearly falls off his own.

 

“Okay!” Enjolras throws his hands up in a gesture of absolute despair.

Courfeyrac frowns but Combeferre looks equally surprised when he glances over at him.

“What’s wrong?” the other man asks slowly, and god, the way he rolls the R should not be allowed.

Enjolras’s left eye twitches. “Nothing,” he says and his voice sounds strained. “I just can’t be _here_ -” he makes a circling motion with his hand indicating Combeferre and Courfeyrac – “anymore.” And then without another word he turns around and leaves the kitchen.

There’s a short silence where both of them just stare after him, then share another confused look. Combeferre shrugs and goes back to eating his muesli.

Courfeyrac doesn’t  _really_ know what’s going on and he doesn’t particularly care because a ray of sunlight catches in Combeferre’s hair that falls slightly tousled into his face.

 

His cornflakes are definitely soaked by now but that’s alright, totally worth it.

 

***

 

Combeferre can’t say he is  _completely_ surprised when Enjolras eventually addresses the elephant in the room about a week later.

What he didn’t expect was it to happen in the middle of a late night X-files marathon when he’s very comfortably curled up in the quilt Jehan made as a housewarming gift, wearing his favourite t-shirt with the giant face of Nicola Tesla on it and fuzzy pink socks that totally belong to Courfeyrac.

Enjolras leans forward, snatches the remote control from the coffee table and presses pause.

“You should tell Courf you’re in love with him.”

And alright, it is  _not_ fair to just ambush one like that in the middle of their favourite TV-show.

“What are you talking about?” He gets out, confused and slightly annoyed because he was feeling quite good about a second ago.

Enjolras looks like he couldn’t care less. “You should tell Courfeyrac you’re in love with him,” he says again like he’s talking to a small child. “Don’t tell me you’re not.”

Combeferre realizes that there’s no possibility to get out of the conversation because Enjolras is holding on to the remote control like he would defend it with his life if necessary. He knows when it’s time to admit defeat so he just sighs heavily and leans back into the sofa cushions. “I’m not. I mean, I’m not telling you I’m  _not_ in love with him. I am. I know that but I’m not going to  _tell_ him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s one of my best friends and we’ve known each other since we were kids and he doesn’t feel that way about me.”

Enjolras blinks, a look of absolute shock on his face and Combeferre quickly continues, “And that’s okay, I don’t expect anything from him, absolutely nothing even if he’ll never feel that way. I’m not going to stop being his friend because of that, I’m not an asshole.”

 

“No,” the other man says firmly, “But you’re an idiot.”

 

“Excuse me?”

“Courfeyrac is in love with you.”

The leap that his heart makes at the words is almost painful. Combeferre forces himself to put up a smile but even he can hear that his voice sounds forced. “No, he’s not.”

“Um, yes. He _is_.”

“No, he is not and that’s alright,” he insists and ignores how Enjolras is staring at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving. “I’m alright.”

He can feel Enjolras’s eyes on him for a long moment while he stares resolutely at the TV screen.

It switches back to play and none of them says another word but after a minute Enjolras scoots over on the couch so he can throw an arm around Combeferre’s middle and rest his head on his shoulder for the rest of the evening.

 

***

 

“You should tell Ferre you’re in love with him.”

Courfeyrac almost chokes on the mouthful of burning hot coffee and alright, maybe he plays up the coughing a little just so Enjolras feels bad. He looks insultingly unfazed about the whole thing though.

“What?” Courfeyrac manages to choke out after a minute or so of spluttering. “That’s disgusting. And wrong. I don’t even get– why would– I’ve never –”

“Stop quoting Parks and Recs at me, I’ve seen every single episode of that show five to seven times, don’t even try.”

Courfeyrac winces. “Sorry. I panicked.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras says dryly. “I could see that.” He raises and eyebrow and nope, Courfeyrac will _not_ have that.

“Oh, don’t go all judging eyebrow on me, will you?”

The eyebrow lowers. It’s not really that much of an improvement because Enjolras can still look very judging without it.

 

Courfeyrac sighs and leans back in his chair that is soft and comfortable and nice enough to not pester him with questions about his love life.

 

“Okay, yeah, I’m in love with him, how could I not be? He’s one of the most incredible people I know and I’m already lucky enough that he’s one of my best friends on top of that, I mean he’s caring and compassionate and gets excited about the smallest, weirdest things and he’s so _good_ , you know, just genuinely good and beautiful, inside out and yeah, I’m not averse to admitting he’s handsome, okay? Oh, who am I kidding, he’s fucking hot and I am just a person, alright? I am _weak_ , Enjolras, have you  _seen_ his face? How can someone have such a perfect face? I don’t get it! I don’t. And you think someone who’s won the face jackpot wouldn’t also win the body jackpot but I swear to god, his ass in those jeans –”

“Okay, okay, enough!” Enjolras cuts him off looking completely horrified. “I don’t need to know the details. That detail. Anyway, you know, he feels the same way about you.”

“Well, I hope so. The reason I  _bought_ these pants is because they make my butt look fine as hell.”

Enjolras’s expression morphs into something even more pained. “I mean,” he says slowly, “That he is in love with you.”

Courfeyrac stares at him for a moment, then throws his head back and laughs. “Oh no, he’s not. He’s my best friend, I  _know_ such things about my best friends, believe me. I’d know if he was, just as sure as I know that  _you_ get all flustered whenever Grantaire wears that shirt, you know which one I’m talking about, the black one, with the buttons.”

“I am _not_ ,” Enjolras exclaims, his voice a few notches too high and Courfeyrac grins triumphantly.

“Oh yes, you are. You look at him like you want to throw –”

“Don’t you _dare_  finish that sentence.”

Before Courfeyrac can get another word out Enjolras shoves a piece of cake into his mouth and he’s almost choking again but at least Enjolras is blushing far too much to touch the topic for the rest of the day.

 

***

 

Grantaire thinks that during the last years he has come to know Enjolras actually quite well.

He supposes that’s the natural consequence of spending a large amount of time talking to someone and an even larger amount watching someone (an amount so large that some might consider it stalking but Grantaire’s friends with Maris so he definitely knows what real stalking looks like).

 

But Enjolras wouldn’t be Enjolras if he didn’t manage to catch Grantaire completely off guard from time to time.

 

For example when he’s standing on Grantaire’s doorstep on a Sunday morning in plaid red pyjama pants and literally just storms past Grantaire into his apartment proclaiming, “I can’t take it one GODDAMN SECOND LONGER!”

Grantaire closes the door behind him. “Good morning Grantaire, how are you Grantaire. Nice to see you Enjolras, splendid, thank you, what brings you here on such a wonderful morning?” he mutters under his breath but Enjolras either doesn’t hear or ignores him on purpose and since he knows Enjolras quite well, it’s very likely the last.

“It has literally come to the point where I can’t stand being around my _best_  friends anymore, can you believe that? _That's_ how far it has come. They’re the worst, oblivious, pining _idiots_  in the world, what am I saying, in the fucking galaxy. They can’t even eat their goddamn cereal anymore without having eye-sex and I can’t eat my cereal because of them. I’d rather have them just do it on the table if that’d make it stop! I mean, I wouldn’t really want them to have sex in the kitchen because that’s where I eat, theoretically, but it’s about the principle of the thing, I just –” he stops mid-sentence having turned around to face Grantaire who has been busy staring more enamoured than he wants to admit at the golden-haired, furious man wearing fluffy pink socks.

“So what you actually mean,” he starts slowly when it gets obvious Enjolras is not continuing, “is that you want your best friends to be happy and you need a plan to get them together to make that happen.”

Enjolras stares at him without saying a word.

He really doesn’t know what to do with that look but Grantaire is starting to get slightly worried because Enjolras is silent as good as never.

“Are you… alright?” he asks carefully and the other man blinks.

“I really like your shirt," Enjolras all but whispers and okay?

“O…okay?” Grantaire says increasingly confused and dares to look down at his shirt which happens to be a simple black button-up. He’s about to remark something like that he’s probably slept in it when he thinks about it but that’s when Enjolras crosses the room and then there are hands in his hair and lips on his, hot, insistent and absolutely certain and Grantaire forgets what he was about to say along with every other thought as well.

 

***

 

Combeferre closes his eyes, opens them again, repeats the whole procedure twice and is still the seeing the exact same thing than before.

 

“Well…,” he starts and then has no idea how to continue. He risks a glance at Courfeyrac who only looks shocked.

 

They’re standing in front of the Musain and at the table by the window Enjolras and Grantaire sit, holding hands on the table top, smiling at each other like nothing else in the world existes. The shirt Enjolras is wearing is definitely _not_ his own.

“I can’t believe they finally got it,” Courfeyrac whispers almost reverently and Combeferre has no words for how much he agrees with the sentiment. “I thought they’d keep pining for the rest of their lives, are you _sure_ this isn’t a dream?”

Combeferre looks at Courfeyrac, dark curls tousled and eyes bright with wonder and happiness and hears himself saying, “Thank god it isn’t.”

And Courfeyrac laughs, tugs him back into the direction they came from and starts chatting happily while Combeferre is content to listen. “You’re so right, I couldn’t have been able to stand all that unresolved sexual tension for the rest of my life…”

 

***

 

Courfeyrac is happy for Enjolras, he really is.

 

He is also not stupid.

 

He clearly realizes that during the last weeks Enjolras and Grantaire have put there heads together an awful lot and not _just_  in the new-couple-kind-of-way.

And he’s absolutely sure that this is the reason why he has found himself in an increasingly amount of situations alone with Combeferre and he wouldn’t complain about spending time with him, really, only that this time is more and more spent in mysteriously locked rooms or when someone is drenched in some sort of liquid. And another problem is that Combeferre is a perfectly polite, decent angel of a man who even when _he'_ s the one drenched in coffee on a day all of his shirts but the white ones have vanished into thin air asks if _Courfeyrac_  is okay first who feels and probably looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.

He wonders if the other man is just too nice to say something about the way Courfeyrac blushes and stumbles his way through these situations and the thought hurts more than he wants to admit.

And the worst thing, Courfeyrac thinks as he walks into Combeferre and Enjolras’s apartment with Combeferre in tow, is that they probably think they’re _subtle_  about –

 

He opens the door, stops in his tracks and feels his jaw drop.

 

Combeferre almost collides with him but Courfeyrac is too busy to notice, staring at the huge pinboard in the living room that is full of post-it notes in different colours, strings and pictures.

Enjolras and Grantaire turn around when the door opens.

“What in god’s name _is_ that?” Courfeyrac gets out.

Grantaire grins and Enjolras just shrugs nonchalantly and turns back to the board. “Oh you know, just ideas on how we can get the two of you to admit your feelings for each other.” He looks over his shoulder. “Ferre, what do you think of car washing?”

Courfeyrac doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

“I’m going to make some tea,” Combeferre says from somewhere behind him, then walks into the kitchen while Courfeyrac still doesn’t move for a few more seconds before he follows the man like in trance.

“Told you it wasn’t a good idea,” Grantaire mutters and balls up a bright blue post-it note and throws it into the bin next to the pinboard. "You should listen to me more often." Enjolras huffs.

“Sugar?” Combeferre asks when he’s made his way to the kitchen and Courfeyrac all but falls onto the closest chair.

“ _Please_.”

 

***

 

All of them are on a night out in the Corinth a couple of days later and Combeferre is silently despairing over the incredibly tight jeans Courfeyrac is wearing, not that he is going to admit to anyone, he’ll suffer in silence, thank you very much.

Enjolras flops down onto the bar stool next to him and the fact that he’s drunk is painfully obvious because he moves with about as much grace as a newborn giraffe or Marius.

“Ferre, hey Ferre,” he starts and his words are already staring to slur and it shows how much of a lightweight he is since it’s not even 10pm. “Don’t you think Courf has a great face, like it’s really a great face and I’m not just saying this because I have to as a friend you know, it’s just an amazing face, you should tell him, to his face and I don’t know, maybe make out with his face. For… for science and… stuff.”

 

“You’re drunk,” Combeferre tells him.

 

Enjolras blinks at him, then raises his finger to tip his nose three times only that the third time his finger lands dangerously close to his eye. He looks at it as if it has personally betrayed him then points at Combeferre. “My point still stands!”

Combeferre sighs and carefully takes the glass from the other man’s hand.

 

***

 

Courfeyrac is positively sure he’s having a near death experience because it’s just after midnight and Combeferre is _dancing_  and it’s absolutely ridiculous because he has no sense of rhythm whatsoever and it’s adorable and shouldn’t be sexy but oh well.

He sits down next to Enjolras at the bar who’s basically a mess of blonde curls and too much alcohol in his system because it doesn’t happen often that Enjolras drinks but when he does he doesn’t stop at one beer. The other man heaves his head up from the bar and stares at Courfeyrac for a minute until he seems to realize who it is sitting next to him and his face lights up. “Heyyy, Courf.”

“Hmm?”

Combeferre seems to have seen him too because he’s bows (fucking _bows_ ) to Musichetta before he walks over to them and Courfeyrac is too distracted by his smile to notice Enjolras elbowing him. “Courf, psssssst, Courf you shouLD TOTALLY TELL FERRE YOU WANT TO HAVE HIS BABIES”

 

Everyone in a five metre radius turns around and Courfeyrac really, really has never wished that much for the ground to swallow him up.

 

Combeferre raises an eyebrow. “You know that’s biologically not possible, right?”

And Courfeyrac is so not drunk enough for this.

 

***

 

They’re sitting together on of the corner sofas and even though Combeferre is having (trying to have) a very interesting conversation with an absolutely trashed Bahorel about elbow patches he’s aware of the point where Courfeyrac’s knee touches his while the other man is talking to an incredibly flustered Marius almost done with his third Cosmopolitan.

 

He’s also quite aware of the way Enjolras has been staring at them for the last ten minutes and it’s starting to get unsettling.

 

He elbows Courfeyrac discreetly, softly and nods his head into the direction of the blond man who is looking like a very big, human cat. A drunk cat.

“Enjolras? Is everything and alright?” Courfeyrac asks carefully.

Blue eyes flicker back and forth between Combeferre and Courfeyrac and then Enjolras literally _hisses,_  “Kissssssssssssssss,” and Combeferre stands up.

“Okay, enough for today, we’re taking you home.”

Courfeyrac is next to him a second later. “Good idea. R, we’re taking your boyfriend home.”

Grantaire who is engaged in a surprisingly aggressive match of rock-paper-scissors with Bossuet and Joly looks up. Enjolras happily waves goodbye at him.

 

***

 

Courfeyrac is definitely not drunk enough for this.

He’s surprisingly not-drunk for a Saturday evening after spending several hours in a bar and no real explanation for that phenomenon.

He could say he’s drunk enough from Combeferre’s sheer presence but that would be cheesy and terrible and dangerously close to the truth.

They heave a half-asleep, drunkenly mumbling Enjolras up the stairs into the apartment where he falls head first onto the sofa and refuses to move from there on.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” Courfeyrac says out lout and Combeferre laughs breathlessly, slightly flustered, incredibly beautiful and if he didn’t know better Courfeyrac would say _he_ was drunk but since he has basically watched the other man the whole evening he knows he only had two beers. (Is it creepy for him to know that? It probably is.)

The silence is comfortable when Combeferre tucks Enjolras into a blanket and Courfeyrac looks at him, his careful, attentive movements, the look of absolute gentleness in his eyes and can’t take it anymore.

 

“Listen,” he says at the same time Combeferre turns around and starts, “I –”

 

They both stop and Courfeyrac can’t help but laugh and it should be embarrassing as hell only that it isn’t because this is _Combeferre_ whom he has known since he was a kid, who’s known him through every single one of his awkward teenage phases and every adult mistake and still never left.

He’s _Combeferre_  who bits his lip and waits for Courfeyrac to speak first, not because he’s scared but because he always listens to everyone who wants to say something, anything.

And Courfeyrac takes a deep breath and hears his voice over the rapid beating of his heart.

 

“He is right you know,” he says and Combeferre frowns but Courfeyrac goes on because he knows he’s already too far gone, has been for a really, really long time now. “I’m in love with you.”

 

A tiny part of his brain had hoped, the part he has never allowed himself to listen to but he is still absolutely shocked when Combeferre doesn’t answer, just crosses the distance between them and brings their lips together. The first kiss is neither rushed nor bruising, it is warm and gentle and almost chaste and Combeferre’s lips are soft but certain where they press against Courfeyrac’s and it’s – for the lack of better words, for the lack of any other words – perfect.

When Combeferre leans backs Courfeyrac keeps his eyes closed for a second or two, savouring the feeling of Combeferre’s hands, one on his waist, one slowly waving its way into Courfeyrac’s hair, a thumb gently tracing along his cheekbone and when he opens his eyes Combeferre is smiling at him. Just a simple smile, not even wide but it’s warm and loving and tender and beautiful.

 

He opens his mouth to say something but Courfeyrac stands up on his tiptoes and presses another kiss to Combeferre’s lips, the second one, because he already knows what he is going to say and that's more than enough. 

 

***

 

Enjolras opens his eyes when he hears the door to Combeferre’s room fall shut.

He can't help the triumphant grin spreading over his face as he kicks the blanket away and stands up, perfectly steady on his feet.

And well, he is already looking forward to peacefully enjoying a bowl of cereal in the morning because he is pretty sure _that_  door is not going to open again very soon and he's only a _little_ annoyed when he has to stand up again a couple of hours later to look for earplugs in the bathroom.

 

***

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, there's [tumblr](http://vintage-jehan.tumblr.com/).


End file.
